Caught Cold
by CaptainBluebear13
Summary: A new fighter is in town and he's tearing it up. Ichigo is an up-and-coming boxer by day, street fighter by night. He's taking everything by storm and a certain blue haired devil is running the playground and has his sight set on the Orange. Ichigo's ulterior motives come to light and Grimmjow finds himself Caught Cold. Rated M for safety, language, and lemon. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1: Introduction

**AN: I was up one night and thought to meself, "Hmm, I'd love to write a Grimmichi fic. But whatever shall it be about?" Of course I don't actually think that way, but it's less boring than my actual thought. ANYWAY. Boxing is so interesting for me, even though I really know zero things about it, so bare with me and my Wikipedia searching. I actually did watch like, three hours of boxing ideos on youtube to help give me visuals, so props to me for overcoming my short attention span.  
Confused? Look at the end of the chapter notes for definitions and clarity. Ask questions and review!**

**Onwards...**

Ichigo Kurosaki. This kid was 5''11', 145 pounds, and just turned 25. I watched him up there on the canvas, throwing bolo punches like there was no tomorrow. I knew his game, though. Those punches were used to lure his opponent into a false sense of security, make them think that he was wide open for a hit. They'd block his wide ark, and move to hit his head with a cross punch. He would bob and weave; fucking slinks out of the opponent's range with the grace of a fucking cat, and go to the body. He was all about the infighting, throwing in a combination before ending it all with a haymaker leaving the ref to call the eight. The kid was a stylist.

He was dead fucking serious about it too. There was no kidding around with this kid; he always had a scowl on his face, like he was unhappy with the entire thing. This kid came off as totally straight-laced. Never threw an illegal punch. No kidney shots. Hell, I don't think I've ever seen him throw a liver punch.

But that was all while he was here, on the canvas, inside the ring and under the stadium lights. Not many people, _respectable people_, that is, saw him in his fucking _element_; a place where he _unleashed_. Now, forgive my crude language, but the sight of him in a street fight really got me hard. It was like he let everything go. It was no rules. No restraint. No care. He fought like he had nothing left to loose.

And I think I liked that about him most because it was so much like me. I had nothing left so I left nothing to be desired in the ring.

But god, did I hate him too.

I was a journeyman. I tested up-and-coming little shits. Kids and men who thought they had it all down; cocky as hell bastards who really knew fuck-all about boxing. I am the KING of street fighting. I am the sixth Espada and first rate assassin for some guy with too much money: Aizen. Working the mob is dangerous, but like I said, I have nothing left.

The point was that this kid comes in and is originally classified as a Welterweight. I'm not even used to size up men in that weight class. Hell, they barely use me to determine people in my own technical weight class of Light Heavyweight. I was mainly contracted to be the opponents of upper Heavyweight men. I was that good. What keeps me from going strictly professional was my connection with the mob. I don't need that kind of publicity.

So, when this guy comes in, the journeyman for his weight class, some fucker called Abarai with some pretty outlandish tribal tattoos and a head full of bright red hair, he just kicks the shit out of him. Abarai lasted for a completely embarrassingly small amount of time; strange considering he technically should be in my weight class but has some seriously unrealized potential.

Instead of being all pissed and going after Kurosaki for another go, he fucking smiles and they _laugh_. I catch on that they're old friends and I feel a little bit of anger roll around in my stomach and something that fleetingly feels like jealousy burn away at my insides, creating a small black hole. They shake hands and Abarai leaves to clean up. Zaraki gets up there to congratulate the kid and makes some joke about wanting to fight him himself. I almost laugh at how completely freaked Kurosaki looks. Zaraki slaps him on the back and the kid stumbles a bit. I see him gesture to me and I know he's telling him that he's going to be training with me.

Zaraki approached me last week and asked me to come in and watch Kurosaki fight.

"Kid is fucking brilliant, Grimm. You should see the way he moves!" He imitated a bob and weave followed by a few jabs. He looked a little ridiculous considering how colossal he was. But it was scary as hell too. Kenpachi used to be unbeatable before he left the ring for good.

"You watch him for a week. Tell me what you think."

So I did, and the kid didn't disappoint.

With another firm slap on his back, Zaraki left the practice ring and mumbled something about picking up his kid from school. A little brat that I would never admit I had a soft spot for: Yachiru. I fished in my pocket for a pink-lemonade sucker and tossed it to Zaraki. He saluted me with it with a wide smirk and left the building through the wide glass doors.

I turned my attention to see Kurosaki staring down at me from the ring, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. His gaze was intense, calculating, and interested. I smirked up at him and gave him a wink.

"Like what you see, Orange?"

Kurosaki blushed like mad and leapt over the ropes to land lithely on the floor, barely making a sound. He scowled at me before walking over. His strides were purposeful and totally confident. Everything about this kid was a turn-on. His honey-brown eyes flecked with gold bored right into mine, his light pink lips were pulled into a tight line, but I just knew they were soft and likely to be fucking _delicious. _The match had him flushed and his blush only helped to bring out a smattering of freckles across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. I bet they were on his shoulders too.

To be clear, I was inclined to enjoy company of the male persuasion. In fact, women never did it for me. I was very selective in the men I did like, but I would say I didn't really have a type. Certain men just did it for me. Kurosaki was one of those men. I took the time to learn these things because when I wanted something, I took it. I wasn't a sap for all that love shit but I was out for a good fuck and I definitely did not share.

"Don't call me that. I was just thinking that you look familiar." His gaze turned calculating once more and I suppressed a shiver before smirking down at him.

"I know you, Orange. Respectable boxer by day, street fighter by night." The kid looked shocked a moment before turning around and taking off his sleeveless shirt. His skin was sun-kissed everywhere and even though he wasn't ripped, he was incredibly toned. I clenched my hands into fists at my side to keep myself from running my palms down his back and snaking them around to the front of his waist.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The kid was an awful liar and I snorted.

"Sure, kid. Don't think I haven't seen you fighting in the Underground. _Shirosaki_ ring any bells?" He froze before turning and eyeing me with a slightly manic gaze. One I only saw him use in the Underground. His eyes smoldered and I saw a flash of coal-black and gold.

"_I'm not the only one with something to hide. But you know all about that, don't you, Sexta?" _His voice came out a little garbled and I was immediately taken back to a fight I'd seen where he'd laughed in the same voice. Delicious shivers ran down my spine and down to the tips of my toes. It was like he was a different person. Fuckin' weird. I smirked and waltzed up to him, leaning in close. I heard his breath hitch and I smiled against his ear.

"I'm gonna be training you, think you got it in you?" I purposely made my words have double meaning by dropping my voice an octave. A rough hand grabbed the back of my head, fingers digging into my scalp and yanking on my hair. I fucking loved it when my hair was pulled and choked down a groan.

"Think you can handle me, _Sexta_?" He breathed into my ear and I felt a growl low in my throat come up through my clenched teeth.

"Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. You start training. Ich werde sehen Sie heute Abend in der Underground." I felt Kurosaki shiver against me before two firm hands shoved against my chest. I backed away and he turned around and practically fled the training hall.

"Fuck, Orange." I murmured under my breath. That little piece was going to be _mine_. I'd make sure he knew that tonight.

**AN:  
That little piece at the end is German where I hope I have Grimmjow correctly saying, "I'll see you tonight at the Underground." Sorry if I fucked that up. **

From the predictem website where I searched boxing terms:

**Caught Cold:** Term used to describe a fighter knocked out early in the fight who was not mentally prepared or warmed up properly.

**Canvas:** The floor in a boxing ring.

**Bolo Punch:** A showy, sweeping punch that looks like a little like an uppercut. More of a showboating tactic.

**Cross:** Power punch thrown straight with the rear hand.

**Bob and Weave:** When a fighter moves his upper body in an up-and-down motion, making him more difficult to time correctly.

**Go to the Body:** A strategy that centers on trying to deplete an opponents' resolve by repeatedly punching to the body and not so much the head.

**Infighting:** Close-range boxing.

**Combination:** A seamless sequence of consecutive punches.

**Haymaker:** A wild punch intended to knock out the opponent.

**Eight Count:** After a fighter is knocked down, the referee must complete a count of eight even if the opponent rises before that.

**Stylist:** A fighter who relies on skills rather than brawn.

**Journeyman:** A skilled fighter, while not necessarily a winning one. Used as opponents and to test up and coming boxers. They lack meaningful connections and take fights on short notice.


	2. Chapter 2: Enimies and Enigmas

**(An) I want to thank you all for being patient. And to those of you who favored the story or followed it, those notifications pushed me into writing. So yay for you! I hope the holiday season faired you well and that you continue to read in good health. Strap in, because this story is serious. I guess I wanted to prove that on the surface, things seem smooth; but underneath, currents stir.**

**Big thanks to: Mayuzu, Cheeva, Grisia, and Welch's-Grapejuice for reviewing my first chapter.  
Lots of love to: 4n0n-ch4S1n9-U for pushing me along and telling me that everything I write is awesome. **

**And even MORE thanks to Cheeva! This wonderful human being took it upon themself to translate some of the phrases in this chapter so I no longer butcher the German language! You were so humble to say I didn't have to dedicate to you because it's my story, but I couldn't help myself. So this goes to you, thank you for investing so much work in the phrases and I'm happy to have someone so helpful. **

**Yet again, I apologize for the wait. I made up for it in this chapter though! The plot thickens and it's balls long. I had to make a Taco Bell run in the middle for sustenance. Anyway…**

**ONWARDS!**

Soon after Orange made a break for it I was on my way out as well. I was already a few minutes late to one of Aizen's meetings; not that I minded. I sure as fuck didn't mind missing that god-awful tea. Besides, all of these meetings went a certain way, typically starting with a report from each member on the team, and with ten of us, that ate up some serious time. Time I could be spending eating my weight in some of Urahara's sandwiches.

Damn, they were some seriously delicious sandwiches.

But I digress, as I typically do. In fact, it was as I was digressing with my head in the clouds and my feet taking me to Aizen's 'office' that my phone started vibrating angrily in my pocket. I figured it was probably Starrk or Ulquiorra calling to see where the hell I was, so I answered without looking.

"Yeah?" I grunted.

"Guten Tag, Blue. Ich habe Sie lange nicht gesehen."

My steps faltered for a split second at the familiar voice and language. Flashbacks of my childhood came rushing to me and the nostalgia that rolled over me was an uncomfortable, sickly one.

"How did you get this number?" I tried to drop the German; tried to grab ahold of some of the control.

"Ich habe Sie schon lange nicht mehr zu Gesicht bekommen," He drawled again in German, ignoring my attempt to change it, "was halten Sie davon, sich mit mir in dem Café zu treffen, welches Sie so gerne besuchen?"

Any fool would have known that this wasn't a request, and He seemed to take my silence as acceptance.

"Ich treffe Sie dort in zehn Minuten. Seien Sie pünktlich." And with that, the line went dead.

The phone felt heavy in my hand and my legs took an almost natural turn to the sandwich shop and I scolded myself for such an immediate response to orders. Absently, I text Starrk about the issue with the All Father and continue down the sidewalk towards Urahara's.

In my early years, barely even old enough to know right from wrong; I was taken from my mother as payment for her overcharged drug tab. Instead of being put into the hands of someone who would have just sold me into human trafficking, the brother of the All Father took me in. He said he took one look at me, and saw potential.

Whatever he saw there didn't show up until about by early teens. They started training me. Boxing, street fighting, gun play, you name it. I was under the tutelage of the All Father's brother, Malichai, until his death: a horrible deal gone wrong. He died under a spray of gunfire to save me.

It was there, covered in his blood at sixteen that my potential shined through.

I killed everyone.

A few weeks later Aizen came. He pitched a perfect plan to the All Father; promising drug trade routes in America as well as names and profiles of dirty cops to help along his human trafficking trade, and a seemingly endless bank fund.

All for two things: his top fighter, and a promise for the Zemun clan to support Aizen in the future. Of course, he agreed. Aizen was the biggest name in America and everyone knew he was swiftly gaining influence internationally. At the time the Zemun clan was still small; running drugs, robbery, things like that, so having a big player like Aizen backing them was a golden ticket. I was passed over to Aizen and was put to work immediately.

I didn't have the chance to fight it. Looking back, I'm not sure I would have anyway. This is what I knew. It's what I _know_. Aizen had me educated, I learned English, Spanish, French, and just started on Japanese. He had a personal instructor teach me Tai Chi, Boxing, self-defense, the Martial Arts, and some basic meditating techniques.

I rose through the ranks and became Sexta in the Espada Unit; the highest ranking Unit in Aizen's army. Mostly I do patrols, hunt for fresh meat to add to the masses, train new kids. And every so often I play enforcer.

I entered Urahara's shop, the bell dinged overhead and Urahara looked over his creepy fan and set about to making my usual. I scanned the small sandwich shop for the still familiar lumbering figure and the telltale shock of red hair.

There he was, sitting in the back and leafing through a newspaper; he looked almost normal. Aside from his obviously ripped physique and almost other-worldly aura of danger, he was your regular guy. As I stepped closer, his head snapped up and I had the distinct feeling that he'd sensed me somehow, and that thought sent shivers up my spine.

However normal the All Father seemed, he was one scary son-of-a-bitch. The only reason I feared him more than I did Aizen is because Aizen didn't kill on a whim; Aizen killed for reasons, which means that as long as you stay relatively within the rules, you didn't have to worry about getting tagged out of nowhere.

The All Father was different.

When I approached the table, I remained standing and silent as I waited for an invitation to sit. He smiled up at me and I had to suppress the images of sharks that popped up into my head. He had irregularly sharp canines, much like mine, but the jagged scars that ran along the left side of his face made him seem deranged.

"Hullo, Blue. Have a seat." The offer sounded warm and like I had a choice, but I knew it was an order. He was known to love throwing around his authority whenever he could. I remained silent in wait for him to speak as I sat.

As the silence grew to an uncomfortable extreme, Urahara suddenly appeared, setting my sandwich in front of me; his fan hiding a ridiculous smile.

"There you are, Grimm, your regular!" He turned to the All Father and seemed to size him up before he spoke to him. My knuckles turned white from the hard grip on the chair and I prayed to whichever god was listening that this wouldn't end badly. "And what can I get you, Red?"

The All Father looked to me with a raised eyebrow and a quirk of the mouth, and I prayed again that he was just amused. With a cursory glance to my sandwich, he gestured flippantly to me and said that he'd have the same.

As I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, Urahara skipped away and I was left alone with The All Father again.

"I wish for you to tell Aizen that I want a bigger cut." His German was thick and it sent me back years to hear it. Truth be told, a part of me was angry, I've spent years trying to iron out my German accent and try to sound as unassuming as possible. This was a setback.

"You know he won't do anything." I said, and with an eyebrow raise from him, I quickly added, "Sir."

To get something straight, I could take this guy. Thirty seconds and he'd be dead. Swear. I was afraid of him because I was technically Aizen's dog now, and this guy was his associate. So under no circumstances was I allowed to harm him without express permission from Aizen directly. And with The All Father being a loose cannon, his predictability was close to zero. Stepping on eggshells was a necessity.

He considered my words and looked at me speculatively. Since the connection with Aizen, the Clan had tripled in size, and by extension, their operations have gotten bigger and more elaborate. Their influence was beginning to spider-web, granted it wasn't a large as Aizen's, but they were gaining power. It seemed that with that power, The All Father was growing greedy, more than he had been initially.

The problem with that was that Aizen was done giving handouts to them. He's already gotten a foothold in Germany and has since developed contacts that exist outside the Clan. The All Father being here was for more than business; he was there to remind me who shaped me, who owned me.

Problem was, that was Malichai, and he's dead.

"Yes, yes, well, it appears as if you have some convincing to do. It is not a request." There was really nothing left to be said. He knew that Aizen wasn't moving an inch on this, and I knew that there was going to be a problem if something wasn't done.

Urahara placed a sandwich in front of The All Father, who then, rather politely, asked to have it put in a bag. As that was taken care of, he finished off his water and folded his newspaper up as the silence stretched on. He knew it was making me uncomfortable.

Finally, when everything was ready to go and his sandwich was in hand, he rose from his chair and looked me in the eye.

"You're mine, you Abschaum." He hissed between teeth and I froze in my seat. "You are nothing without Us. Remember that, boy." He spit the last word at me before he seemed to gather himself and send another shark-grin my way. He walked up to my side and starred down at me a moment before saying, "Ich freue mich auf unser nächstes Treffen. Guten Abend, Blue."

He left the shop, sandwich and paper in hand and turned down the street, and I was suddenly no longer hungry.

Urahara took that chance to come by and wave his fan in my face.

"Ooh, goodness. That was a tempest of raging testosterone."

I smiled weakly up at him and reached into my jean pockets for my wallet.

"I'm going to have to leave, 'Hara. Can you wrap this up for me?" I asked, gesturing to my sandwich. He smiled down at me; at least I think he did, from behind his fan before waving it in my face again.

"Mah, don't worry about it, Grimm! On the house! Anything for my favorite customer!"

With that, he wrapped my sandwich and shooed me from the store before I could protest.

The day had quickly turned to night and the cool air fanned my face, suddenly I was immensely grateful of the power Aizen held. With a boss like him, it was unlikely that The All Father could really do anything.

For a moment, I wondered if it was really worth it - living this life. Day to day I'm unsure if I'm going to be shot, stabbed, or knocked off somehow.

Shaking my head to clear those thoughts, I flicked my wrist to peek down at my watch for the time.

"Fuck."

Eight o'clock. The Underground opened in thirty minutes and tonight was my night to be paired with Starrk for scouting.

A stop by my place would take too long, so with sandwich in hand I sprinted back to the Boxing Center for my car.

As I slid into the cool leather interior of my baby, my phone vibrated and I cringed. With a quick glance to the screen I grimaced and accepted the call.

"I expect you have some information for me." Aizen's cool voice came over the line as I started my car. I threw it into reverse and backed out of my spot before tearing out of the parking lot.

"He wants a bigger cut. More routes and names." I could almost see the irritated gleam in Aizen's eyes and I scowled as I sped through a yellow light. My day better get better fucking fast.

"Am I right in assuming that you told him that would not happen?" I nodded before realizing that he couldn't see me.

"Yes, sir. I told him."

"Mmm. What did he have to say?"

"He more or less said that it needed to happen anyway. He's planning something."

The line was silent again and I held through the silence as I turned onto Maple Street and stopped at a light. Aizen audibly sighed and I could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I will take care of this myself. It was time to make a visit anyway."

I remained silent. He didn't want my input on this and I wasn't foolish enough to question him.

"Are you scouting tonight?"

With the subject change I felt my frame relax and I chuckled.

"Yes, sir."

I pulled into the parking garage across from The Underground. As I threw the car into park, Aizen spoke again.

"Yes, well, I also called to have you keep an eye out for a boy by the name of Kurosaki."

I froze at the familiar name, my hand hovering over the ignition before motion came back and I turned off my car. I slid out of it, grabbing my sandwich. Once again I didn't comment. Aizen wasn't asking so I knew there was more he had to say about it.

"He's new and from what I understand, he's gotten quite the reputation with your little Underground scene right now. Ulquiora did some research and apparently nothing comes up."

My eyebrows rose at that. Ulqui was our top intel guy. He could hack his way into anything, bypass any system and get any information. Aizen seemed to read my mind.

"Yes, and even with all of his abilities, he was unable to pull a scrap up on the boy. The only information we have is a picture Nnoitra was able to pull from the boy's bag." He was silent again for a moment before speaking up, "I want you to find out as much as you can from this boy. Get close to him and see who he really is."

The conversation was coming to a close and I knew that he was dismissing me.

"Yes, sir."

"Marvelous. I expect a report tomorrow at eleven a.m."

With that, the call was disconnected.

I shouldered the door to the garage open and jogged over to the Underground. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and rapped on the door three times. A series of locks were released and the door opened to reveal the tall, hulking figure of Yammy.

"Cutting it a bit close, Grimm?"

"Fuck you. I had to grab my sandwich." Yammy's laughter rang out in the small cement hallway.

"Man, you and those fucking sandwiches."

I punched him in the shoulder and moved down the hall to the opening, as I neared it, the sounds of cheering and jeering men and women filtered down to me and I felt a dangerous smile light up my face.

Walking into the underground was a lot like walking into a room with speakers turned on full blast. There was loud, pulsing music blaring from tall speakers littered everywhere, but that noise didn't compare to the screams and yells of everyone there.

Men were shirtless and woman wore bandages wrapped around their breasts. Tight pants and no shoes or socks was the rule. Money was being held in tight fists and bets were being made. Only two lights shown in the whole Underground; one over the ring, and one over the biding table, it was a beautiful, electrifying sight.

I saw Starrk on the edges and made my way over, pulling half my sandwich out and passing it over.

To the naked eye, he appeared to be sleeping on his feet; but I knew that he was at his most ready that way. He was totally relaxed and coiled to spring into action whenever he needed to. He cracked an eye open to stare at me lazily before accepting the sandwich.

"Thanks."

That was all he said before he scarfed the whole thing down in two bites before closing his eyes again.

I chuckled and pulled out my half, munching on a corner as I scanned the arena; a certain Orange in mind.

It seemed as if Cirucci was in the ring again, she was going all out on some guy off the street. Her unassuming size really catches people off guard. Cirucci is one of the few women I can handle. She has a badass attitude and doesn't take shit from anyone. She can take care of herself and isn't interested in playing with anyone. She's very straightforward and can be a cold-hearted bitch sometimes, but that's why we love her.

I know for a fact that Starrk has his eye on her. I think she knows it too, but that's what's great about Cirucci; she doesn't get all air-headed about it.

She sent a flying roundhouse kick to the jaw of the guy, someone three times her size, before stomping him harshly in the groin.

A chorus of cheers rang out and the guy was called out of the ring as Cirucci was led out of the ring with her hand raised by her friend Nel.

Nel was another one of the girls I didn't mind. She had a bubbly personality and could be annoying as fuck sometimes, but she handled herself better than just about anyone in a fight. I wouldn't ever admit it, but she could totally kick my ass.

She was Starrk's younger sister and was well acquainted with the gang, but never got too involved. From what I heard, that was Starrk's only condition when Aizen had hired him: that Nel was to never be an official member, but would always have the gang's protection.

Like she needed it.

There was a break as the blood and other debris was cleared from the ring and the familiar draft of air coursed through the room, signaling that Yammy had let another kid through.

I turned my eyes to the hallway's opening just in time to see that all too familiar shock of orange hair. With a smirk to myself, I watched him move to the biding table.

I smirked and watched the way he put all his weight on one leg as he bent over the table to speak to the Banker. He had an unconscious grace that I would just love to see in bed.

The Banker gestured to his shirt and Orange obliged, pulling his shirt over his head and handing it to the guy along with a wallet and keys. He was already without shoes and socks, but that was a minor detail in comparison to the glory that was his washboard stomach.

He was all lithe, rippling muscle stretched over tan skin. He had a peculiar tattoo that I seemed to have not noticed previously. There was a koi fish that stretched from halfway down his side on the right side of his back up onto the top of his shoulder. It was a peculiar design, one that reminded me of old traditional Japanese ink, but it wasn't colorful. It wasn't in black either.

The fish almost seemed to be lost in his golden skin. It was etched carefully in red ink; an interesting color choice, and hard to see.

It was then that Orange's partner was introduced to him and I inwardly grimaced. Nnoitra was known to play dirty, even in comparison to street rules. He was would dig up dirt on fighters and use that information against them in hopes of distracting them enough. Nnoi got his fifth spot in Espada by his mouth alone. Sure, he could fight, but he talked more smack than anybody I ever knew.

Funny coming from a guy with a missing eye.

They seemed to exchange pleasantries, Nnoi kept his creepy wide-mouthed smile on his face the entire time. Orange's shoulders seemed to tense, as if sensing something off about the tall man, before he nodded to him and turned to the ring.

From this angle, I had a great sight of his profile. The kid was gorgeous. He had a strong, straight nose and lips that would have made any other guy look effeminate. I smirked to myself and found that my day had gotten better. I could get close to the kid as a part of my job, having fun along the way was just a plus.

That in mind, I stripped my shirt off along with my shoes and socks and walked over to the Banker to drop off all my effects before I sidled up behind the Orange. I stood barely an inch away from him, and this close, I could see the koi fish much better against his skin. It looked graceful, elegant, and powerful. Just like its wearer.

I brushed the pads of my fingers over the tattoo causing him to jump as I leaned forward to place my mouth next to his ear.

"I like yer ink, Orange."

Strong brows furrowed and a dark, honey-colored glare was cast at me over his shoulder before a smirk of his own took over his features. He remained silent and turned his attention back to the ring, the fight carrying on and the shouts never ceasing. I brushed my lips against his ear again as I worked my palm across a shoulder blade and gripped his hip with my other hand.

"Aw, s'no fun playin' hard ta get."

He shivered and I felt it through my chest. I smirked and laved my tongue from the juncture of his shoulder up to the base of his ear. He lolled his head back and I ignored Nnoi's knowing smirk as I delighted in the sound of a choked-down moan.

Suddenly, I released him. He stumbled slightly, looking dazed before glaring back at me. I stepped away slowly, smirk firmly set into my features.

"Two can play at tha' game." I said over the screaming. His scowl darkened before turning his back on me and focusing on the fight, hand raised to flip me the bird.

I laughed heartily and made my way back to Starrk.

"Have fun?" He asked me, his deep voice drawling out in a low rumble.

"The kid is too easy to rile up."

"Mmm."

The fight in the ring ended with a shout of triumph and a chorus of groans. Exchanges were made and the janitor came in once again to clear the space of debris and blood for the next round.

As the last bit was picked up, Nnoi entered from one in to a clamor of cheers. His leering grin was spread throughout the crowd as he looked over everyone with hands raised to the ceiling. He turned a few times; tongue out to reveal a tattoo of the number five in elegant script.

From the other side, Orange came out, silent and as gracefully as a cat. A stronger, louder set of screams sounded at his entrance and Nnoi turned around to eye the kid.

Ichigo's face remained impassive. He didn't even look to the crowd; he just kept his eyes trained on the taller man before him. With his back to me, I could see the koi stand out even stronger against his skin underneath the light.

They circled each other a few times before Nnoi lashed out, his long legs eating up space and his arm swinging out to catch Orange in the side of the head. For all the speed Nnoi had, he seemed much too slow for the kid.

Orange ducked underneath the swing easily before coming up in close to Nnoi, throwing several rapid slaps to either side of his face to disorient him before bringing tight fists down to pound into his stomach. The kid was just fucking capitalizing on Nnoi's height. That close, Nnoi wouldn't stand a chance at getting a punch in. He needed distance for his long limbs to work.

The kid ended the split-second attack with a swift kick up to Nnoi's knee, knocking it to the side and causing him to lose his balance. Nnoi's smile took on a slightly more manic, angry set to it as he leapt back up to his full height and backed away.

Orange was still silent and calculating, the circled once again before the kid initiated, dropping low to sweep Nnoi's legs out from underneath him. Nnoi easily evaded and sent a kick to the kid's back.

Orange stumbled forward and turned quickly to face Nnoi before going down into a crouch to evade a kick to the head. He surged upwards and caught Nnoi under the jaw before twisting to deliver a strong kick to Nnoi's stomach, knocking the lanky bastard on his ass.

With a roar of the crowd, and a snarl in place of his smile, Nnoi went in to tackle the kid across his stomach. They rolled to the ground, Orange's head cracking against the cement sharply before they both stilled. Nnoi's mouth was next to the kid's ear, he seemed to be whispering something. Nnoi's smile grew and I knew that he was pulling something on the kid.

Suddenly, the kid's body convulsed in what appeared to be rage, his body bucked upward, knocking Nnoi solidly in the gut. His skin seemed to lose all its color and his once vibrant hair turned an ashen-white. Blackness seeped into the whites of his eyes and leaked into his fingernails. With a sharp shove, Nnoi was thrust off of the kid and golden eyes flashed down into a single violet one.

The crowd went silent. Something that happened the first time the kid had fought. Some guy had challenged him and in the middle of the round, snapped the kid's fucking wrist. It was like a dam was released and he'd gone crazy. Hair and skin white as snow and eyes black as night with a golden moon, he'd gone into a frenzy; like he didn't notice the broken wrist.

Ever since then, the crowd waits for him to snap.

The silence was short lived. A watery scream of delight erupted from the kid's mouth a sent a visible shiver down everyone's spine. The laughter carried on, never ceasing as the crowd's cheering grew in volume once more.

The kid lunged towards Nnoi, avoiding a punch to his now stark-white midriff before delivering a punch directly to Nnoi's good eye.

There was a scream of pain as Nnoi was put onto the defensive, one hand to his eye and the other blocking a series of punches thrown almost too fast to be human.

The horrifying laughter took on an angry edge as the watery voice began growl out words.

_"You don't know a _fucking _thing!"_

Three right-handed punches were thrown directly into Nnoi's face, a sickening crunch was heard and suddenly there was blood streaming down into Nnoi's sneer and onto the floor.

The kid's knuckles were fucking covered in blood. His fists clenched at his side, shaking it what seemed to be restrain. His entire body shook with anger and his eyes seemed to flash unnaturally in the light. Nnoi spit down at the kid's foot and golden eyes looked up to his bloody face, contempt clear on his face.

In a flash of white, he was on Nnoi, straddling his chest and pinning him to the floor. The red ink of the koi fish now stood out like a neon sign against white flesh and it seemed to come to life against the pale skin. He was sending one fist after another straight into his face, each punch punctuated with a word.

"Weak!"

"Nothing!"

"Die!"

"Die!"

"Die!"

Nnoi struggles were getting weaker and weaker but the kid just kept drilling him into the ground. Starrk shifted in his seat and sent me a look.

The crowd was roaring for the kid now, fucking sending his murderous rampage on and on. Starrk and I entered the ring to the groans of disappointment. Starrk grabbed the kid roughly by the shoulders and tore him off Nnoi, and threw him back to me. I grabbed him from behind and snaked my arms underneath his and brought my hands up behind his head, effectively trapping him in a headlock.

Starrk leaned over Nnoi, snapping a finger in front of his face before helping an unsteady Nnoi into a sitting position. I knew that Starrk was scolding him for running his mouth; it seems like it finally kicked his ass.

Meanwhile, the bleached out version of Orange was thrashing in my arms, shouting curse words at me and Nnoi.

"Fuck ya! Interruptin' our fight? Bunch a pussies!"

I knew that this didn't last long, a few more seconds and the fight would drain out of him as the color leaked back into his ashen body.

"Ya don'…fuckin' guy couldn'…weak bastar'…" The kid stilled in my grip and the soft hair that sat underneath my chin gained its startling orange color back. I turned the kid around in my arms in time to see soft honey-brown eyes flutter open. Suddenly, I heard Starrk's baritone resound throughout the Underground.

"Allright, party's over! Get your things and leave!" Groans were vocalized but he was obeyed. Starrk motioned to his sister, Nel, and to Cirucci to help with Nnoi. Both women stood on either side of him as he tried to bat away Nel's worrying hands. With a glance in my direction from Starrk, I gathered the slowly awakening Orange in my arms and went to the Banker to gather both our things.

Once we got out into the cold night air, he came around and took his things from me harshly.

"Now, now. Feisty kid, aren't cha?" He scowled at me and I relished in the flash of gold I saw in his yes.

"I'm not a kid." His features seemed to soften slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, thanks, um, for stopping me back there." I snorted.

"Tch. Wasn't my idea. I think Nnoi had it coming to him with that mouth of his." I smirked down at the kid and considered him for a moment before my curiosity got the best of me. "So what did the fucker say ta ya anyway?"

That familiar scowl settled on his features again before he cast me a dark look.

"None of your fucking business."

With that, he pushed himself from the wall and stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to walk away. There was a slight sway to his hips and I bit my lip at the way his back tapered into the curve of his ass.

"Oi! Rest up! You got trainin' eight o'clock sharp tomorrow, sweetheart!" For the second time that night he flipped me off before continuing his walk down the street. I smirked at his back before jogging over to my car.

Morning couldn't come fast enough.

**AN:**

**GOD. So, 5,000ish words later, I'm exhausted. The German in the beginning roughly translates to:**

**'Good Afternoon, Blue. Long time no see.'**

'I haven't seen your face in a while, how do you feel about meeting up at that sandwich shop you frequent?'

'I will see you there in ten. Do not be late.'

**A derogatory term meaning: Trash.**

**And, 'I look forward to our next meeting, Blue. Good night.'**

**I hope that you all enjoyed it, and thanks once again for your continued support. I just hope I can make it through my Chem class.**

-The Captain


	3. Chapter 3: He Has Nobody

**AN: Sorry. I know it has been a while. I was just in a bad place for a bit and couldn't bring myself to write. Sometimes I just get into this funk and I can't even really think about writing. But here I am! I would like to take time to thank all of you that reviewed and followed and whatnot. I hope this can tide you over.  
IMPORTANT: It was just brought to my attention that I'm awful at math. haha, so, instead of Ichigo being 19, at this time with the birth-date, he's actually 25. So sue me if that messes with your mind and pisses you off.  
(I'm not mad that it was brought to my attention, simply angry that I can't count)  
It has been changed in the first chapter to his actual age, so if you're a new reader, ignore this.  
**

We both showed up to practice early. I was woken up early by a phone call from Starrk attempting to remind me subtly that I had a meeting with Aizen at eleven. By the time I was done cursing at a silent Starrk, I was fully awake.

When I pulled up in front of the practice building Orange was there, leaning against his own car. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear me, so I took the moment to just stare at him. He was already in his practice clothes; a loose fitting pair of sweats and a white tank top.

His eyes had dark smudges underneath and I noticed a slight tick he had in his left hand. There seemed to be a sinister light behind his eyes that sucked the fire from his soul.

That was really fucking poetic.

I expelled that thought from my head with a slam of my car door; effectively waking Orange up from wherever the fuck he was.

He scowled at me and I inwardly sighed, I could deal with scowls and anger.

No words were spoken, the silence punctuated by grunts and sound of impact as we threw ourselves wholeheartedly into the fight.

But he was slipping; his eyes unfocused and his mind a million miles away.

"Orange, what are you doing? Every move you've made has been fucking predictable!"

"Grimmjow. Shut the fuck up."

"You just throw tons of combinations and hope that when you toss in a haymaker your opponent will be down and out."

"Grimmjow."

"Where is that energy I saw last night, hmm? Fucking beautiful."

"Fucking shut up!"

The scream of anger had the barest hint desperation and I felt my smirk slip from my face. Orange looked like shit. It wasn't the practice; we'd barely started. Something was up.

"What's up, Orange?"

A golden glance was thrown my way and ran a hand down his face with a sigh.

"Nothing, Jeagerjaques." I saw all the muscles in his forearms tense before he pushed himself away from the ropes and fell into a stance, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. My eyebrow rose seemingly of their own accord and I crossed my arms over my chest.

"No, Orange, I think you're gonna be talking about what's eating you."

The fire that had been missing most of the morning jumped into his eyes and I saw his energy leak into his every muscle as he tensed.

Suddenly I was on my back, the world seemed to tip with me and the dull thud of my head snapping onto the mat resounded dully in my ears.

"What do you know, huh?!"

He got one punch in, straight to my face, knocking my head to the side. I was by no means a glass jaw, but I had to fight back a few stars that swam into my vision.

His next punch was expected and easily deflected. I reached up and grabbed his left arm, pulling sharply down, yanking him to the side as I pulled us closer together and rolled, twisting my legs and hips to pin him beneath me.

"Fucking calm down!"

My hold only lasted for a moment before his head snapped up and his forehead cracked against mine and I slumped to the side. Orange rolled away before jumping to his feet and I took the moment to rise, hand to my face.

"Kid, just fucking…"

Being punched in the mouth isn't as bad as people may think, I definitely preferred it to a broken nose, but it's the punch that follows that gets you. Orange knocked me pretty solid right in my open mouth, just hard enough to bring my hands up as a reflex before he brought his other hand in for a punch to the gut.

It was a predictable move, like all the others I've seen, and so was easily evaded. I stepped to the side, grabbing his arm as it sailed past my stomach and twisted, forcing him to turn around. I kicked my leg out, sweeping it in an ark on the mat and effectively knocking his legs out from underneath him. He landed hard on his side and I made quick work of pinning both of his arms behind his back and straddling his lower back.

He growled low in his throat and turned his head to look at me, the fierce glow of gold flashing up at me. I bent at the waist to put my lips level with his ear and tried to ignore his squirming.

"I'm not going to let you go until you calm the fuck down."

He stilled for a moment before turning his face to the mat and sighing. His head snapped up suddenly and I sat up abruptly, clicking my tongue at him as he slammed his head on the mat in frustration.

"Ah ah ah. Remember what I said earlier? Predictable. Now, things would go a lot smoother if you could calm your shit and just get out what's up your ass."

Not my best choice of words given our position and what exactly I've wanted to do to the kid since he came in, but what can you do?

His body relaxed fully this time. It was amazing how I could feel all that fire and energy leave his body. It was one thing to see it, but whole other game to _feel _it.

There were a few tense moments of silence as his ragged breathing evened out and his temper cooled before he turned his head to rest his forehead against the mat once more.

"Ok, Grimmjow. I'm cool. Let me go."

I released him gladly, the position we'd been in was one I only really liked to stay in for me recreational reasons, and I knew the kid was not going to receive that kind of attention well right now.

I sat back and raised my knees up, resting my wrists on them as I cracked my head from side to side. The Orange turned to sit cross legged, and raised his head to meet my questioning gaze.

"Are you always this unrelenting?" The kid panted, gesturing to me. I smirked.

"Only to the ones I like."

He seemed to scowl in hopes of hiding the light blush that dusted his cheeks.

"Why are you such a…"

"…super awesome, smokin' hot, sex god?" I supplied.

"I was shooting for something along the lines of 'asshole.'" He ground out, leaning back on his arms and extending his legs, crossing them at the ankles.

"I find it to be one of the many endearing qualities I have."

He grunted in response and rolled his eyes before staring up at the ceiling.

"Why do you care?"

"Hm?"

"Why does it matter what's on my mind? Why ask? Why not just tell me to leave my emotional baggage at home?"

I felt myself shrug and I said the first thing that came to mind.

"Curiosity mostly."

"Killed the cat."

"I still have a few lives left."

"Do you always land on your feet?" A small smile played at his lips and I found myself mirroring it and I laughed.

"Always. I purr too."

"Do you?" He asked simply before reaching out and tousling my hair, my eyes closing automatically.

You'll remember my admission of loving when my hair is touched. A sound did rumble in my chest, just not one associated with purring.

"Sounds more like a jungle cat." He said as his fingers ghosted across my scalp. I opened one eye to peak up at Orange and was slightly taken aback at how close he was. I could see the little flecks of gold and dark brown in his eyes and realized he wasn't looking at my own blue ones, but at my lips. I let my gaze travel down to see his own and noted a small freckle that rested on the top lip, close to the edge.

I felt the mat shift as he shifted his weight and the hand in my hair tightened slightly. I angled my chin up and my face to the side. Warm breath ghosted over my lips and I moved a hand up to cup his cheek.

Before my hand could settle on his likely smooth skin, he jolted away as if shocked and quickly rose to his feet.

"I uh, I'm gonna go."

I gritted my teeth and yelled after him as he slipped through the ropes and grabbed his things.

"You better be ready for practice Wednesday, Kid! I won't be going easy on you!"

All I got in response was the Orange giving me the finger. I was beginning to think it was the equivalent to a wave for him.

As the door closed and I heard his engine come to life I laid back on the mat and tried to think what I did wrong.

That was flirting, right? I mean, I'm pretty good at getting into just about anyone's pants. All it really takes is a few half smiles, a touch, and looking straight into their eyes and it's like: hook, line, and sinker. I've never had to focus too hard on the verbal part.

But I seemed to have succeeded a bit today with the cat conversation. It was a weird approach and kind of an odd way to flirt or whatever, but it almost worked better than my usual game, and it seemed more natural. Orange even initiated contact.

Fucking kid and fucking feelings fucking my shit up.

At least I was going somewhere. This was all totally in my favor. The kid is my type so I'm willing for it to progress like that, he's even interested. Pulling information is always easier when the other person trusts you.

I tried to repress the human part of me, the part that feels guilt, and I got up and moved out of the ring to check my phone for the time.

"God dammit."

I rushed to my car and sped to Aizen's place.

Stop lights flew overhead and yellow lights went unheeded. I really couldn't afford to be late again, even though I know it's pretty much expected.

Aizen's base of operations was a large, typical mansion style snob fest. Huge glaring white pillars and sculptures of women with their tits hanging out and shrubbery shaped like boxes. A guy can have his tastes, but jesus, he could tone down the compensation.

My car was the last in the lot and I jogged up the swept steps and into the foyer before being led into the receiving room by the butler. Once again, a fucking receiving room? Why not just call it a fucking living room and lets all stop pretending we're high class.

Taking my seat at a long oak table between Nnoi and Zommari a cup of steaming tea was placed in front of me by a faceless servant and I repressed the urge to crush the fucking china.

I'm not a tea drinker. I drink water, booze, and black coffee. I'm not big on drinking the watered down cousin of coffee. It's weak.

But I sip it anyway because Aizen has to feel like he's having fucking tea and crumpets with the Queen of fucking England.

"Since Grimmjow has decided to finally grace us with his presence, I believe we shall begin." His tea was set down gently and refilled, silence stretched on until the server left and he continued after an infuriatingly long sip. "As many of you have been informed, we have a few issues at hand. There is the problem in Afghanistan with our supplier and his stock, as well as some undue stirrings with the Zemun clan in Germany. I've decided to take care of the All Father of the Zemun clan personally, but I will be sending a group of you to Afghanistan to sort out our little problem."

He gestured to the table and three folders were placed in front of Yammy, Harribel, and Baraggan.

"I expect you to get their operation back up and running and to drive off the secret service there. Discourage them in any way you see fit. As you know, they are our biggest seller of heroin and amount to twenty-seven percent of our net profit." The table remained silent as the three nodded their heads in understanding. "Wonderful. Now, I would like you to turn your attention to the screen."

He motioned with a white-gloved hand to the wall behind him and the large TV winked on. It broadcasted a still picture of the Orange. He was standing outside that sandwich shop I loved so much and was looking in the opposite direction, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"This is Ichigo Kurosaki. I'm sure you've all seen him before, from what I understand he frequents The Underground and has made quite the splash." The picture changed and a slightly blurred one of him during his previous fight with Zommari took its place. "He's been suggested by many of you to be considered for the recruiting pool. A few of you even put his name in for the empty Noveno spot. I find it interesting that so many of you are impressed, and when I received all of your reports, I decided to have some digging done on just who he was. Ulquiorra?"

The Cuatro seat, and good friend of mine, Ulquiorra Cifer: the computer hack. When Aizen motioned to him, his stoic eyes shifted down the table and he spoke in his low, formless voice.

"There is was nothing in any of the data streams on the boy. His name comes up nowhere; no traces. He's been intentionally wiped."

His eyes moved back to Aizen and the bastard took more time sipping the god-awful tea before he spoke.

"The only thing we have on him is a picture Nnoitra managed to get copies of while at the Boxing Center."

With another wordless command, the screen flashed and a picture of a family came up. Papers were passed around to each member and Aizen continued.

"What you are receiving right now is what was found on the back of what I assume is a family photo."

I noticed Orange first, my eyes instantly drawn to his bright hair. He was noticeably younger; seven, maybe eight. He stood next to a tall, beautiful woman, and was clutching her hand, staring up at her with the biggest, goofiest smile on his face. She gripped his hand back just as hard and with the other hand, held a toddler on her hip as she smiled back down at him.

Standing behind Orange with one hand around the shoulder of the woman was a tall, dark-haired man with a horribly unshaven appearance. On his shoulders rested an equally dark-haired toddler, clutching onto his hair and smiling almost as big as Kurosaki.

They looked disgustingly happy.

I looked down at the paper in front of me and read.

_"To my beautiful boy. I love you, Ichigo."_

_Masaki Kurosaki : June 9__th__1970 – August 17__th__ 1998_

_Isshin Kurosaki : December 10__th__ 1969 – May 12__th__ 2003_

_Yuzu Kurosaki: May 6__th__ 1992 – May 12__th__ 2003_

_Karin Kurosaki: May 6__th__ 1992 – May 12__th__ 2003_

_Ichigo Kurosaki: July 15__th__ 1988 – _

It was obviously a personal photo and had been held often. Even in copy form, I could tell the edges were torn and worn. What I could only assume were death dates were bolded in. They seemed to be written over and over. I bet he knew every single one by heart.

It was shocking, to say the least. I knew I had seen that raw desperation in the way he fought, but I assumed that he was just going through a part in his life. That he was just what most kids are: depressed and angry.

Now I know that he is legitimately angry and lost. From what this tells me, his entire family is gone; dead. He has nothing left.


End file.
